


Three Original Ficlets

by FoxRafer



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-09
Updated: 2009-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:17:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxRafer/pseuds/FoxRafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Three untitled original ficlets; really only posting because I like having things in one place (and if something happens to my files I still have them somewhere; once bitten, twice shy as they say)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Three Original Ficlets

**Author's Note:**

> Three untitled original ficlets; really only posting because I like having things in one place (and if something happens to my files I still have them somewhere; once bitten, twice shy as they say)

[   
**# 1 - The inspiration photo**   
](http://www.flickr.com/photos/eldano/3859662276/)

The sea was on fire, flames rippling in reflection from the burning sky. We watch the sun fall beneath heavy stone peaks, slicing jagged spikes into a swarm of clouds. You rock to sway the boat, laugh when I ask you to stop. Always finding joy from my fear, always looking for ways to kindle my anxiety. I don't know why I'm here, trapped, a prisoner to your whim.

Your hand dips into the water and scoops out ancient drops of rain. They seem to flash in the fading light, sliding like crystals down your fingers. You look at me and smile, another brilliant star but one I can touch, reach for the light that doesn't dim. Another day's end, another night finds me with breath still in my lungs. Because of you, always because of you.

[   
**# 2 - The inspiration photo**   
](http://www.flickr.com/photos/xfp/2543859325/)

They curled together, mother and child. Sunk into invisibility on the cold stone steps. Three days finding no one able, no one willing, to give even a dime. Now exhausted, the end of a long walk to get to the church and the promise of a meal.

But hard economic times are indiscriminate, and doors that once opened all day now keep hours like white collar drones. So they wait, pain and fear twisting round empty stomachs, silent prayers mouthed to unseeing Gods that they will survive the night, that it will be worth holding on to shreds of hope.

 **# 3 - Warning for suicidal thoughts**

The inspiration:  


  


  
_Don't know who to credit; picture from the November 9 post at[ **mini_nanowrimo**](http://mini-nanowrimo.livejournal.com/)._

The day is bright and inviting. The sun pools on the bare wood floors, littered with dust and dirt, swirling in the beams. She can see the lush green of the park opposite, the trees spreading across the small road to her windows, enticing her outside. Even the french doors plot against her, sitting open, pulled toward her, pulling on her.

Slowly she backs against the wall, pressing her palms flat against its rough stucco. She lets its cool texture bind her, tie itself around her fingers, curl around her waist. Her lips move, whispers a silent oath not to be lured by the world, captured by its life. Not yet. Not until her blood stains the boards beneath her feet, not until only her spirit is free to roam, to dance in the foliage and soar through the glades.


End file.
